


Love-Crazed

by neverminetohold



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Concussions, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Serial Killers, Sexual Coercion, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: No matter how skilled a survivor Nathan was there were times when making it out alive came down to dumb luck.





	Love-Crazed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



The world stopped spinning by the time Nathan managed to struggle into a sitting position. Leaning against the peeling wallpaper he simply breathed, nice and shallow, trying to get the pain under control that lanced through his temple and chest.

He tried to shake the confusion and disorientation, the stuffed-with-cotton-feeling that muffled his surroundings with smearing colors and blurring edges. It took longer than he would have liked but he finally remembered running out of ammo, his knife being wrested away. Curling up to shield his head, jeering voices and looming shadows. One guy crying over those Nathan had gunned down, then another kick, and darkness.

The air he inhaled was thick with dust and left a sour tang at the back of his throat. The gang had turned the living room into the bastard child of a torture chamber and chem den. No guard in sight, just a low-tech laboratory with bubbling beakers and a Bunsen burner, busted chintz furniture, and a wooden chair with rust-brown stains.

_It's too damn quiet._

His scalp was wet and sticky with blood. Nathan tasted metal on his tongue, forced a thick mouthful down against the rising tide of bile. _Concussion, check. Broken... no, bruised ribs, check. Trussed up, check. No weapon, check. At least they didn't shoot my veins full of the crap they are cooking._

Shit like this was bound to happen when six guys got the drop on one. _Sloppy. Stupid. Payback time._ Nathan exhaled, bracing himself for action, the quick twist, crunch and pop, bone separating from the cradle of its socket.

Time to look at the bright side. Saving his own skin aside, Raiders meant plenty of loot. Food, weapons and ammo, medicine. His usual MO was to kill them on his way inside their hideouts, working methodically to reduce their numbers until he hit jackpot... not that it made any difference.

The important part was that Sturges, unlike Garvey and his ragtag bunch of settlers, was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The mechanic understood that they were no more than guests in Sanctuary. It wasn't their town, they hadn't fortified it, killed to keep it. So Sturges paid the price that Nathan demanded. In caps. On his knees, if Nathan was in the mood for a hot mouth or tight ass.

Crawling out of Vault 111 as the sole survivor of failed cryo-tech had been a shock, but he had quickly realized that this new and improved version of Boston was a dream come true for a man with his particular tastes and skill set. Granted, joining the army had worked out great until Anchorage. As long as he had killed in the name of his country, it hadn't counted as murder.

The bombs had blown the shithole of the USA wide open, forcing a divide: the strong and the weak. And with Nora gone, there was no incentive left for him to keep up the act of a well-adjusted citizen. Not that Nathan thought he had ever fooled her. She had been one of those women who believed in redeeming the bad guy through the magical power of their love.

 _Wandering thoughts. Pointless musings._ He grimaced. _Concussion, double-check._

Focused again, Nathan was about to dislocate his thumb when he heard the soft noises of stealthy movement. A rustling of fabric here, the creak of a floorboard there. But it was the aftershave that gave Pickman away: patchouli, bergamot... and a whiff of fresh blood.

Nathan relaxed against the wall and waited. Having thrown his lot in with a man who left calling cards at the scene of his crimes, he couldn't even claim to be surprised.

"Stalking me, Richard?" Nathan asked as fingers brushed the skin of his bound wrists. "Again?"

"Can you blame an artist for taking measures to protect his muse?" Pickman asked, producing his trusted knife with the silvery gleam of a flourish. "Besides, I went out with no intention other than replenishing my art supply."

"Plenty of that here," Nathan said, ignoring the feeling of the sharp point teasing white lines along his arms until Pickman decided to focus on freeing him.

The rope gave. Nathan rotated his shoulders and rubbed the feeling back into his hands. His muscles were sore, but not numb. He got to his feet with a low grunt and blinked the dark spots away that burst before his eyes.

Pickman stood close, watching him for signs of weakness. He wore a bespoke suit with a crisp white shirt and teal tie, like a gentleman out on an evening stroll. That his face was freckled with arterial spray did nothing to ruin the impression.

"Are you hurt?"

Pickman's pupils were blown wide. Concern lurked in their dark depths, right beside the thrill of the kill that had brought them together. Born killers, they had recognized each other instantly.

"Nothing that won't heal." Nathan grinned, showing his teeth like a snarling dog. "Left any alive for me?"

"I trust that was a rhetorical question," Pickman said with a mild frown. "Would you care to join me?"

"While you make your paint and statues?" Nathan pretended to shudder at the thought of the slaughterhouse procedure that involved bodies with slit throats hanging upside down over buckets. "No."

"But you agree that you owe me, yes?"

Pickman extended one hand and Nathan held himself still for the touch of fingers that urged him to lift his chin, tilted his head left and right, then traced the lines of his face over smooth skin and through his beard. Nathan saw the moment that another piece of art took shape before Pickman's feverish mind's eye.

Distracted and not at his best, the kiss caught him off guard, like the attack of a snake, sudden clash and brutal bite. Nathan pushed Pickman away with a growl, licking his split lip with a bleeding tongue.

"Sit for me tonight."

"Forget it. They're waiting for me in Sanctuary."

Nathan made his way to the stairs and almost stumbled over his bulging backpack. A quick search of the contents revealed all the loot he could have hoped for as well as his knife and gun. - And a calling card: 'I'll be waiting for you, Killer.'

"That bastard," Nathan muttered, lips twitching against his will.

Something stirred hot in his chest, rolled over like a lazy old dog and returned to sleep. Nathan was pretty sure that he would have a shadow all the way back home, at least up to the point where Richard knew that Codsworth's sensors would pick him up.

_Guess he's really in love with me. Almost makes me wish I could feel it too._


End file.
